


Cathartic Observations and a Crime Scene

by epaynter



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Friendship, Introspection, Mid-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epaynter/pseuds/epaynter
Summary: Jane observes Lisbon for a moment after arriving at a crime scene.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	Cathartic Observations and a Crime Scene

"Where’s Lisbon?"

These are the first words out of his mouth as he strides towards Van Pelt examining what looked like a tattered journal. Brown leather, well-maintained. Likely owned by either a middle-aged journalist or a compulsive elderly man. He’d have to see the contents to narrow down the guesswork but that is far less important right now.

"Why do you always ask that?"

He’s surprised by her answer. Van Pelt is looking at him now, the journal flipped shut between her fingers, and there is intrigue in her expression. Underneath it, he can sense annoyance and frustration. Not at him- more likely Rigsby or maybe even O’Laughlin. Her frustration always gave her a bit more zing, she pushed back a bit more, poked and prodded a bit further.

"Well, she is the boss, after all," Jane offers with a smile and the waggle of an eyebrow.

He glances around briefly. Shuffling, radio static buzzing, voices piled on top of each other, yellow tape creating an obscure shape around a motionless tragedy. No sign of Lisbon.

"You could call her, you know."

"I could."

He _could_. But he watches her eyes flicker to the roof, less than a second, and he knows.

"Thanks!"

He pats Van Pelt on the shoulder as he jogs towards the stairs. He takes the stairs two at a time to try and counteract the cold wind whipping at his neck.

It is just her up here. The life of the investigation bustling below them. Her palms are flat on the edge of the roof’s ledge, she is looking down in a trance. Lines blend between analysis and sensation, logic and feeling. He watches her for a moment.

She is haunting to him at times. She never seems to leave his mind.

It is a problem he can tiptoe around her because she isn’t looking to acknowledge it. Hell, he isn’t even sure she knows how deeply she runs in his veins.

She turns around and her lips part slightly in surprise, "Jane, when did you get up here?"

"Just a second ago," He responds with a grin ( _a lie, of course- what else is he going to say? Oh, yes I’ve been up here several minutes observing how your existence has carved itself into the inside of my chest and you aren’t even aware of the power you hold. And thank god for that- I need to believe that you don’t have the power to stop me, Lisbon. I really do_ ) and walks towards her.

"I’m sure."

It is sarcasm, no question about that, but her eyes are soft. His chest buzzes from the warmth of her gaze until her attention is drawn elsewhere once more, to the bustle below. He leans on the ledge beside her, their arms pressed up against each other.

He can feel breathing through the slight movements of her forearm. _Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale._

She is wonderfully cathartic. Maybe even dangerously so.

"So what do we got here, Lisbon? Murder, no doubt, but Van Pelt seemed a little cranky so I didn’t ask her to brief me."

She gives him a small smile, involuntary with the corners of her mouth betraying her, and he could count the light freckles on the tip of her nose if he had the time.

He doesn't. Have the time, that is, but it lingers. The image, like a still frozen in time, tucked away his memory palace.

He would count them later.

**Author's Note:**

> This is some characterization practice. I might post this on FF too, but I've never posted there before so we will see.


End file.
